


Always

by Kalimyre



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Fingerfucking, First Time, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-24
Updated: 2012-06-24
Packaged: 2017-11-08 11:32:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/442765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalimyre/pseuds/Kalimyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kinkmeme fill: Lestrade's first time.  He's been seeing Mycroft for a while, but they haven't gone beyond blowjobs/frottage/handjobs etc... Greg tells Mycroft he wants to take it further.  Experienced!Mycroft, inexperienced!Lestrade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, so this is shameless porn with bonus shmoopy cuddling.

Mycroft was just getting ready for bed when his phone rang. He set the toothbrush down, wiped his mouth with a towel, and pulled the phone out of the pocket of his dressing gown (it was never out of arm’s reach). “Hello?”  
  
“Hey.” It was Greg. “Um, could I… I’m sorry, it’s late, isn’t it? It’s late, I shouldn’t, never mind.”  
  
“Greg.” Mycroft smiled. “Tell me what you want.”  
  
“So, this is kind of last minute, but I’ve been thinking, could I stay at your place tonight?” This last was asked in a rush, words tumbling over each other.   
  
“Of course,” Mycroft said. “You needn’t sound so nervous. You know you’re always welcome.”  
  
“Okay, good,” Greg said. “Actually, I… I’m kind of on my way already. I was coming over and then I thought I should call first.”  
  
Mycroft raised an eyebrow. “I see. Well come on, then. Clearly it is a matter of some urgency.” The implication was clear in his voice.   
  
Greg gave a huff of laughter. “Yeah. Yeah, okay, you bloody mind-reader. But I just might surprise you.”  
  
“Indeed?” Mycroft glanced in the mirror and caught the speculative look in his eyes.   
  
“Maybe. See you in a bit.”  
  
Mycroft slipped the phone back in his pocket and went to the kitchen. He considered mixing something for both of them; Greg had sounded a bit wound up and a drink might relax him. Then again, Greg preferred beer to liquor, and Mycroft didn’t like the taste of beer when he kissed Greg, so perhaps it was best avoided. Besides, brandy on top of toothpaste was not an ideal combination.  
  
There was a rapid knock at the door before he could think of any other alternatives. Mycroft felt one corner of his mouth tug into a smile. Greg must have been calling from right outside the building. Keen, then, and eager. He was especially delicious when he was eager.  
  
Mycroft opened the door, and Greg pressed in immediately. He slid his arms around Mycroft’s waist, backed him into the room, and kissed him, licking into his mouth. He was clean shaven recently, Mycroft could feel the smooth skin against his cheek, and he smelled of soap and a faint hint of spicy cologne.   
  
Breaking away long enough to shut the door, Mycroft turned them, pressed Greg against the wall, and kissed a line down his throat. Greg rocked his hips, already half-hard. His hands were tight on Mycroft’s dressing gown, clutching the material. He squirmed when Mycroft sucked at his earlobe, and tried to pull him closer.  
  
“I believe,” Mycroft whispered in his ear, “this is known as a ’booty call.’ Is that the term?”  
  
Greg laughed and some of the quivering tension went out of his shoulders. “Something like that. You, ah… you’re more right than you know, actually.”  
  
Mycroft leaned back enough to meet his eyes. “Oh?”  
  
Greg went pink in the face, and licked his lips. “I was thinking we could try something new. Been thinking about it for a while.”

“What would you like to try?”

 

“Well, you know… sex,” Greg said.   
  
Mycroft quirked a soft smile. “My dear, while I am certainly not going to turn you down, we have in fact had sex before. Several times, if you recall.”  
  
“Not, um.” Greg laughed and rolled his eyes. “This should really not be so hard to say, I’m a grown man for crying out loud.” He gave Mycroft a wry grin. “I’m talking about anal sex.” The words were level, confident, but the colour in his cheeks deepened to red.  
  
“Ah,” Mycroft said. “All right, but I must warn you it has been quite some time since I received that sort of attention, so you’ll need to go slowly.”  
  
“No, I…” Greg ducked his head. “I want to be the one… receiving, if you get my drift.”  
  
Mycroft blinked, and his hands tightened on Greg’s waist, a sudden rush of heat shooting through him at the thought. “Have you done that before?”  
  
“No,” Greg said. “I want to try it. With you.”  
  
Mycroft curled a hand around the back of Greg’s neck and drew him into a fierce kiss, nibbling at his bottom lip and licking into his mouth. Greg made a muffled sound and sucked on his tongue rhythmically, meaningfully. He nudged their hips together and Mycroft shuddered.  
  
“Take that as a yes,” Greg said, grinning against his mouth.  
  
“Yes,” Mycroft replied. “Yes, I… come on.” He took Greg by the hand and led him to the bedroom.  
  
Greg was already tugging on his clothes; he’d come over dressed simply in jeans and a shirt, and his hands were busy undoing the buttons. Mycroft batted them aside and took over, leaning in to kiss the line of his collarbone as it was exposed. The soap scent was stronger under his clothes, his skin smooth and clean. Mycroft grinned, tugged the shirt open, and licked at a nipple.  
  
“I, oh,” Greg said, hands fumbling at his belt. “I read up on this a bit. I used one of those, you know, kits. To get ready. And took a long shower.”  
  
Mycroft held his face in both hands, kissed him, then met his eyes. “You are brilliant,” he said. “And this… this is a gift.”  
  
Greg smiled shyly. He wrapped his arms around Mycroft and nosed into the hollow of his neck, then held him for a long moment. He was tense under Mycroft’s hands, a bundle of nervous energy, his rapid, thumping heartbeat just barely perceptible where their chests pressed together. Mycroft stroked his back, then undid his belt and trousers, pushing them down, finding him bare underneath. Greg toed off his shoes and stepped out of the trousers, then let himself be guided toward the bed.  
  
Mycroft shrugged out of the dressing down and took his shirt off, but left the pyjama bottoms on for now. He settled on top of Greg, knees braced to either side, weight on his elbows as he leaned forward for another kiss. He took his time with it; deep, slow kisses that teased at Greg’s lips and promised more to come. He could feel the tension unwind as Greg grew pliant and warm beneath him, his hands running aimlessly over Mycroft’s back and sides, his mouth soft.   
  
“Good,” Mycroft said, nuzzling the line of his jaw. “Gorgeous.”  
  
“Mmm.” Greg tugged at him, pulling their hips closer together, and squirmed upward. “More.”  
  
“Yes,” Mycroft said. He looked down, face unguarded, letting the want show. “Turn over.”

  
Greg nodded and his eyes went wide. “Yes, okay, yeah,” he mumbled. He rolled, tucking his arms under himself, his back and shoulders a taut line. His breathing sped up, and he rocked his hips against the mattress.  
  
“Shh,” Mycroft murmured, and kissed the back of his neck. “Slow.”  
  
“Okay,” Greg said, muffled against the pillow. “I, um… I didn’t bring anything, do you have…”  
  
“I have everything we’ll need,” Mycroft said. “Don’t worry.” He trailed kisses lower, down the sweet curve of Greg’s spine, lingering at the sensitive spot just at the base. He lapped at the skin, sucked gently, rubbed with the faint scrape of his jaw and then licked. Greg shivered beneath him and thrust against the mattress again.  
  
“Feels good,” Greg said. “S’nice.”  
  
Mycroft smiled. “Just you wait.” Then he pulled at Greg’s hips, raising his arse into the air. He sucked his own fingers, then stroked a wet line from the base of his spine to his perineum, brushing gently over his opening on the way.   
  
“Unh, oh,” Greg muttered. He twitched and pushed his arse back hopefully. “Are you, mmm, are you going to…”  
  
“Yes,” Mycroft said. He spread Greg with his thumbs, then followed the same path with his tongue, slowly. He swirled it around, teasing, just flicking at the edges, and then lapped directly at the center. Greg moaned and wriggled, and he fluttered under Mycroft’s tongue.  
  
“Good?” Mycroft asked, smug.  
  
“Yes, yes, oh,” Greg replied. “That’s, jesus, wow, I can’t believe you’re… ah!” He stopped talking when Mycroft pointed his tongue and pressed the tip in, stroking the sensitive inner rim.   
  
Mycroft kept at him, thrusting with his tongue, then pulling back to lick and suck, nibbling gently. Greg was slick with spit now, the muscle relaxed and twitching, soft. Mycroft felt him shift, and caught his wrist just before he could get a hand under himself to stroke. Greg whined in frustration, then shuddered and pushed back eagerly as Mycroft thrust his tongue in again.   
  
“Ah, god, you have to, please let me, oh,” Greg babbled. “I need, please, mmm.” He shivered and squirmed, then gasped when Mycroft went as deep as he could. Mycroft stayed there, swirling the tip of his tongue, and Greg panted against the pillow.  
  
He pulled back a little, flicking his tongue against Greg in steady, relentless strokes, then sucked at the skin. “Good,” he said, knowing the vibration of his voice would be just a bit more stimulation. Greg whimpered and his hips jerked helplessly. “That’s very good,” Mycroft purred. “Now we can get started.”  
  
“ _Started_?” Greg echoed incredulously. “What are you…”  
  
Mycroft, ever efficient, had secured lubricant and slicked his fingers while his mouth was occupied. He slid one finger in to the second knuckle, gliding in easily. Greg stiffened and sucked in a fast breath, then deliberately relaxed. Mycroft waited for it, waited until he felt the constriction ease, and then he pressed a little deeper.  
  
“Oh,” Greg breathed. “That’s, that’s, oh. Different.”

  
“Wait for it,” Mycroft said. He rubbed the pad of his finger carefully over the smooth, hot flesh inside. He stroked, tiny motions in and out, and then curled until he found the small, solid bump of Greg’s prostate. He eased up to it, sliding around the edges, gentle. Then he rubbed directly over it, little circles, and Greg jerked and splayed his legs wider.  
  
“Oh fuck,” he groaned, “is that what I think it is? God, no wonder people do this. Oh yes, again, unh.”  
  
Mycroft grinned and kissed the round curve of his arse. He pulled out long enough to apply more lube, and then slid two fingers carefully in. Greg grunted and caught his breath at the stretch. “Easy,” Mycroft said. “Relax, breathe.” He waited, just rocking his fingers gently, until he felt Greg open up enough to accept them.  
  
He fluttered the tips of his fingers against Greg’s prostate, then twisted them. Greg was silky smooth and deliciously hot inside, and Mycroft had to use his free hand to squeeze himself through his pyjamas. Just the thought of pushing in, pressing into that tight heat, had him achingly hard. Still, he went slow. He leaned in and licked at the skin where it was stretched around his fingers, and Greg made a choked sound and let him in a little more.  
  
By the time he pressed three fingers in Greg was thrusting back against him, his breath an impatient whine, his back slick with sweat. He barely hesitated at the wider stretch, and Mycroft couldn’t resist reaching under him to stroke his cock where it was pressed hard against his belly. Greg pushed into his fist, slippery with lube, and then back against his fingers, rocking between the two points of stimulation.  
  
“Oh, oh god, hurry,” Greg said. “If you’re going to… wait, wait, oh, I’m going to come if you keep doing that.”   
  
Mycroft gave him one more tight stroke, squeezing his hand over the sensitive head, his fingers pressing firmly inside Greg, right over his prostate. He felt the telltale twitch and flutter around his fingers and pulled back, dropping his other hand. Greg bucked into empty air and groaned.   
  
“Ready?” Mycroft asked, twisting his fingers again.  
  
“You bloody tease, yes, yes,” Greg replied, his voice high and strained. “Quick, god, I’m already so close, I won’t be able to… I want to feel you come inside, I want it.”  
  
Mycroft closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, groping for patience. He shoved his pyjama bottoms off and rolled on a condom, even the tight press of the latex making him twitch and jerk in his palm. More lube next, until he was dripping with it, and then he spread Greg’s thighs wider and settled over him. He rubbed with the tip of his cock, teasing him with it, sliding it down the cleft of his arse.  
  
Greg whimpered and lifted his arse higher. Mycroft had wanted to draw it out, to just barely dip the tip in, to feel the slow squeeze as Greg parted around him but he couldn’t, not anymore. He lined himself up and pressed forward, Greg’s body swallowing him up, taking the head all at once. Greg went still, everything in him focused on the sensation.  
  
“Oh,” Greg said, soft and wondering. “Oh, oh, I…”  
  
“Shh,” Mycroft managed through clenched teeth. “Does it hurt? I can slow down.”  
  
“No,” Greg said. “I can… it’s a lot, but it doesn’t hurt, I want more.”  
  
Mycroft slid in a little more, halfway now, Greg tight and smooth around him. He shook with tension, muscles locked from his thighs to his shoulders, everything in him demanding that he push and thrust and take. But he just kept easing in, steady, pausing to give Greg time to adjust with every advance. When he finally sank in all the way to the hilt, they both groaned.

  
“All the way,” Greg muttered, sounding dazed. “Jesus, I can feel you, it’s, oh, oh Mycroft.”  
  
Mycroft leaned forward and kissed his back, then nuzzled the nape of his neck. “Amazing,” he said. “You feel… Greg, my Greg.”  
  
He rocked there, not thrusting, just tiny little shifts of his hips, until the impossible pressure eased a bit and Greg relaxed around him. Then, finally, he pulled back enough for a proper thrust, the sleek glide of Greg’s body snug around him, intoxicating and perfect. Greg shuddered at the stroke and hitched his hips up.  
  
Mycroft held him in place, then tilted, until he found an angle that made Greg moan and squirm and press back for more. Mycroft stayed right there, pushing in a slow, relentless rhythm, relishing the sound Greg made with every firm rub across his prostate. He kept one hand on Greg’s hip, holding him steady, but reached the other around to stroke his cock.  
  
Greg was hard, slippery with pre-come, and he groaned in relief and pressed eagerly into Mycroft’s hand. Mycroft gave into temptation and went faster, opening Greg up with harder thrusts. He kept his hand snug around Greg’s cock, letting him thrust into it, rocking him into the tight ring of his fingers with every snap of his hips. He stroked with his thumb, rubbing just under the head, and twisted a bit over the tip, pressing the foreskin against the glans.  
  
“Oh, oh, oh god,” Greg panted. “Harder, fuck, I can’t, I’m going to…”  
  
“Yes,” Mycroft urged him, “yes, come on, Greg, the way you feel, oh.” He wanted to kiss him, to catch Greg’s moans in his mouth and watch his face as he got close. _Next time_ , Mycroft thought, and shuddered. Just the idea of it, Greg underneath him, looking up at him, dark-eyed and aroused, as Mycroft pushed into him a little at a time…  
  
Greg cried out and twitched in his hand, and Mycroft could feel him fluttering, waves of pressure squeezing around his cock. He thrust in one, two, three more times and then stayed, pressed deep, as Greg shook and moaned and spurted over his hand. The wet heat against his fingers, the _sound_ Greg made, the way he went tight and shivery inside, it was all he needed to go over the edge.   
  
Mycroft rocked against him, buried as deep as he could, distantly aware of Greg murmuring encouragement as he came. The pleasure seemed to start in the soles of his feet and race all the way up, pooling hot and sweet in his belly, tingling over his skin. He swayed, dizzy, legs trembling, and slumped forward, sprawling over Greg’s back. Greg eased them sideways, grabbed his arm, and curled it against his chest, lacing their fingers together. He kissed Mycroft’s knuckles and let out a long, contented sigh.  
  
They lay there, catching their breath, Mycroft curled around Greg. Eventually he softened and slipped out, and Greg made a quiet sound low in his throat. Mycroft squeezed him tighter, kissed his shoulder, breathed in the clean salt smell of his skin. “Greg,” he said. “Oh, my dear.”  
  
Greg gave a soft, sleepy murmur in reply. “Thank you.”  
  
“Clearly I should be the one thanking you,” Mycroft replied.  
  
“No, I… guess you could tell, I was pretty nervous,” Greg said. “I knew you’d treat me well, though. You always do.”  
  
“Always,” Mycroft agreed. He closed his eyes and wrapped as much of himself around Greg as he could, wanting to touch him everywhere, to soak up the feeling of his skin, to never let go. “Always, Greg,” he whispered. “Never doubt that.”  
  
Greg kissed his knuckles again, rubbed his cheek against their clasped hands. “Never have.”  
  
*

 


End file.
